


Blood On The Streets

by Amsare



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Flash Fic, Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Corvo Attano, Introspection, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amsare/pseuds/Amsare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he needs is the perfect moment to strike.</p><p>So he waits.</p><p>
  <i>Patience</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood On The Streets

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I write about _Dishonored_ \- I had this idea as I was playing High Chaos Corvo - and I hope to write some more about it in the future.

There are three guards talking to each other about some stupid card game happened the day before; Corvo takes a deep breath, right hand on his blade and left hand glowing for the power of the Void.  
   
He is wondering what would be the best way to kill them all – freeze time and cut off their heads or possess one of them and have some fun – so many choices he has!  
   
   
All he needs is the perfect moment to strike.  
   
So he waits.  
   
_Patience_  
   
   
There is a fourth man coming out of the guard post: he is not a simple soldier but a real Sergeant – Corvo knows well their uniforms as he used to speak to these men, even have a beer with them after a long day of work – not anymore, though.  
   
Now he prefers watching them lying on the floor, possibly dead in a pool of their own blood.  
   
The guards greet their Sergeant respectfully and one of them says, “everything is in order, Sir. No sign of the Masked Felon."  
   
Corvo resists the urge to laugh at hearing his new nickname.  
   
Are they really so stupid?  
   
   
_You’ll see me soon, don’t worry._  
   
   
The stoical Sergeant nods, gaze upon the quiet road.  
   
   
He cannot even imagine that the famous Masked Felon is hiding right under their noses, behind a near wall.  
   
And he is watching them with _great interest_.  
   
"Keep your eyes open, men. The former Lord Protector has been seen not far from here. I believe he has reasons to pass through this block."  
   
Corvo is surprised by hearing that – he had begun to think that every guard in Dunwall was an idiot, especially after his escape from Coldridge Prison.  
   
   
_Fools._  
   
   
This is when he strikes: he comes out of his hiding place, ready to fight; adrenaline is already flowing through his body, turning him into a killing machine.  
   
   
The men look at him with pure horror: they know they cannot do anything against him.  
   
Maybe, they have wished he would have not showed up in the end – but Corvo Attano is really standing there in front of them and he is invincible, he is the incarnation of revenge itself.  
   
   
_Revenge, my revenge._  
   
   
Jessamine Kaldwin, the Empress, is dead.  
   
   
Emily has lost a mother.  
   
   
Corvo has lost a friend.  
   
   
_A lover._  
   
   
They thought he was the killer, they incarcerated him, dishonored him: now, they deserved to die and soon, very soon, he would have got to Jessamine’s killer, making him wish he had never been born.  
   
   
"Don’t move!"  
   
"Get him!"  
   
   
Corvo blinks away and reappears right behind their Sergeant; he is dead on the floor soon after, blood spilling copiously from his throat.  
   
Hot dark blood is staining his blade but it is not enough, _no_ , he is hungry, he is hungry for more.  
   
He hears the usual whisper as he moves his left hand to stop the time; he slashes and slashes those bodies, blood frozen in the air just like reddish rain.  
   
   
Corvo wants a taste.  
   
   
They fall down with a loud thud.  
   
   
_Dead, dead, dead._  
   
   
Only one man is still standing, sword trembling in his hand, pail face.  
   
   
"P-please..."  
   
_Oh, he's begging._  
   
Corvo likes it when they beg because it makes him feel a real god – he feels even stronger than the Outsider: will you live or will you die?  
   
   
Corvo knows.  
   
   
_I know you’re going to die._  
   
   
He stabs the guard right into his chest, cutting his muscles, slashing the soft flesh; the man makes a choking sound, as he cannot breathe anymore, scared open eyes fixed on _him_ , Corvo Attano, the Lord Protector.  
   
   
Corvo smirks.  
   
   
There is blood everywhere, on his clothes, on his blade; it is so much that it is dripping rhythmically on the street.  
   
   
He looks at his weapon – _red, red, it’s all red_ – as he cannot resist the urge to lick it, to taste this _nectar_ staining his blade; its metallic taste is inebriating and it is making him drunk, wishing for _more_.  
   
_Yes._  
   
He moans.  
   
   
It is such a disappointment that there aren’t any other guards patrolling the streets.  
   
   
Rats are squeaking around him but they do not hurt him as they are too busy devouring the corpses of the guards.  
   
   
Corvo watches and licks his lips.  
   
   
_More blood, I want more._


End file.
